The Sum of All Fears
by kittsbud
Summary: Dean finally realizes just WHAT he's really afraid of! One Shot.


**The Sum of ****All Fears**

The sound was muted, dulled by the sheer fact that he was only partially conscious. And yet, still, the shrill cry was recognizable enough to make him stir.

It was hollow.

_Dead. _

His eyelids fluttered, but didn't fully open, and he blinked, squinting from the constant flickering of the neon light above his motel room window. The blue sputtering tube made him want to pull out his .45 and blast the 'vacancies' sign into oblivion, but he resisted.

It wasn't the faulty ad that had awakened him, after all. It was something else.

Something much more sinister.

Dean brushed back the sheet that covered his body and rubbed groggily at his eyes. Looking at the bedside clock, he noted that it was 3am. After the last gruelling hunt, he'd expected to sleep until dawn, hell, maybe even some time after.

But that was before he'd heard _it._

Had he been dreaming? Recalling the time he'd been dragged from the earth kicking and screaming into some nether region he'd rather forget?

The howl came again, slow and deliberate just to prove that it hadn't been a past memory or nightmare – and Dean knew from experience, this was no prairie wolf or local mutt.

This was something _very_ different.

The hunter rose from the edge of his bed and considered flicking on the grimy lamp that sat on the nearby table. But light alone wouldn't scare away this creature.

"Sammy?" For some inexplicable reason, he wanted to know if Sam could hear the guttural, hell-inspired cry, but his brother slept on.

Dean considered reaching out a hand and shaking his sibling into consciousness, but some inner part of him suddenly realized it wouldn't be possible.

Whatever was going on, it was for his eyes and ears only.

The annoying neon sign sputtered again, and this time, it flashed as if some unseen force had hit it, sucking the electricity from its tubes.

The light died, as did every other streetlight outside the motel.

Dean shuddered reflexively, reminded of the time he'd been chased by a Reaper.

But then, was this really so different?

Reaper, Hellhound. They all had the same purpose.

Dean reached beneath his pillow and tugged out his favourite Colt. He didn't know why he should abruptly become a target again, or who had set up the contract, but as usual, he intended to go out swinging a few punches at his demonic foes.

The gun felt heavy in his hand, somehow misplaced suddenly, and the thought unnerved him.

He ignored the strange vibe and tugged on the pair of jeans that had been tossed on the floor so eagerly only a couple of hours ago.

Taking a last glance at his brother, Dean walked over to the motel room door and stepped out into the night.

Without the streetlights to illuminate the scene, the backwater rest stop seemed almost cold, unforgiving.

"Why now, dammit?" He cussed under his breath, eyes searching out the lot for signs of the creature from Hades he'd surely heard.

The hellhound bayed again, its haunting cry seemingly coming from the nearby woods.

So that was it. It wanted to draw him out to play a little game. Was Lillith here watching, enjoying the play like a regular theatregoer with the best stage-side tickets?

Hell, maybe Uriel was watching too. He certainly seemed to want to fry Dean's ass as much as the 'other' team did.

"_You can be replaced."_

"_What the hell…go ahead and do it." _

"_You're just crazy enough to go, aren't you?" _

"_What can I say? I don't break easy…" _

Maybe Uriel had finally decided to defy Castiel and hand him over to the enemy.

"Why don't you just come out, you sonofabitch and let's finish the game?"

The air was so thin and cold, the hunter could see puffs of his own breath as he threw down the gauntlet to whoever was out there in the darkness, but nothing stirred.

He shrugged, clicking the safety off his weapon as he moved into the gloom of the shrubbery. The gun, was of course, useless against anything demonic, but its feel gave him comfort, reassurance.

Above, an owl hooted, stirring the treetops as it spread its wings and took flight. It too was a hunter, except its quarry was far smaller, far less…_evil._

Had he disturbed it, or was there something more sinister lurking close by?

Dean felt sweat begin to form on his brow and on his palms, despite the coldness of the night, but he couldn't figure out why.

If there was a hellhound waiting to chow down on his butt, then he wasn't going to run from it.

Dean Winchester was done running – from _anything_.

A cavernous growl so low it defied the laws of nature rumbled through the rustling undergrowth and red glowing eyes pierced the cover of darkness. A stench filled the hunter's nostrils.

The rank odor of death.

A fetid smell he realized he'd been forced to endure for months during his internment in Hell, and yet still, as it hit the back of his throat it made him gag.

He pushed onwards regardless, ignoring the scent of the underworld, ignoring the satanic eyes of the creature that had come to undoubtedly collect his soul one more time.

Keeping his .45 at arms length, poised ready to fire, he broke through the thorny tangles of brushwood into a clearing.

And there it waited for him, thick black pelt glistening in the cold rays of moonlight that cascaded down through the treetops.

It was bigger than a wolf, huge paws with extended claws digging into the soft earth at its feet. Its fangs dripped with saliva as if it was already to savor its next heart and soul.

Dean had never had the chance to look upon one of these creatures for so long before. He'd never had the time to digest just what had torn him to literal shreds as the clock had struck twelve.

And yet, now, as he stared the thing in the eyes, he found he pitied it.

An unexpected realization hit home, and the automatic in his hand dropped limply to his side, all desires of using it washed away like driftwood on a beach.

He had seen so much, been through so much, that not even this thing could scare him anymore.

Dean Winchester didn't fear demons, he didn't fear spirits, he didn't even fear this hellhound that had taken his life from the earth once already.

"Well, what are you waiting for, you fugly-assed piece of fur with attitude? Come and get me."

He didn't even fear going to Hell anymore.

The hound simply watched him, its jaw opening as it licked its elongated lips in anticipation of what came next.

Dean shook his head. "Screw you, dude." Why didn't it just attack and get it over with? He was never going to show it fear. Fear was something he didn't register now, wasn't it?

Except…except, there, niggling in the back of his mind was something he_ was_ afraid of.

And he was terrified to let the wolf-creature see it.

No, not just the wolf, he was scared to let _anyone_ see it.

Dean Winchester was scared of God.

While he'd been able to hide behind the elusion that there was no God, no angels, no heaven, then he could carry on with life without ever having to have faith – to believe in anything beyond the evil that stalked the earth.

But now, now all that had changed, and he was petrified by what it all meant, by what he was now forced to accept as reality. Everything his mother had told him as a child was all true.

And where did that leave someone like Sam?

No, Dean Winchester wasn't scared of Hell, Lillith, or Satan complete with pitchfork and horns.

Dean Winchester was scared of _God._

As he grasped the truth, the hellhound began to change, to bend and morph until it was standing on its two hind legs. Lupine limbs shed their fur and became chubbier until the thing before him wasn't a wolf at all.

Moonlight now danced, not from slick black fur, but from ebony skin and eyes that sparkled with sardonic mirth.

Uriel chuckled, his entertainment for the night complete. He wagged a finger at Dean mockingly, his pure white teeth contrasting against his complexion as he circled the hunter like a celestial professor.

"You _should_ be afraid of God, Dean…and don't you ever forget it…"

A flurry of wings filled the clearing, but this time it was a far larger creature than the wayward owl on the hunt.

Dean blinked involuntarily, and in a split second, Uriel had vanished back into the security of the heavens with his master.

"You _should_ be afraid of God, Dean…and don't you ever forget it…"

Finis


End file.
